


Hard Luck Blues

by UhhOk



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas, 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead Training Shinsou Hitoshi, Background World Changes, Crossover, Dead Midoriya Hisashi, Gen, Intentional Inconsistencies, Midoriya Izuku Has Issues, Midoriya Izuku Still Gets One For All, Midoriya Izuku is a Dork, Personality/Other Character Changes, Planned Character Deaths, Reality Breaking, Slow Story Progression, Slow to Update (Sorry!), Strong Midoriya Izuku, This’ll be important later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:26:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22653214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UhhOk/pseuds/UhhOk
Summary: Oftentimes when the strings of reality cross, it comes and goes or the strings were simply intertwined like that, forming intricate patterns. Occasionally there are problems, as there will always be, but now the strings have crossed again violently, and the anchors that hold them down have been shifted their places.Two almost entirely different world’s have now touched and the beginning of the end starts with a washed-up mailman and a young boy dreaming almost too high.
Relationships: Midoriya Izuku & Original Character(s), Midoriya Izuku & Shinsou Hitoshi
Comments: 16
Kudos: 37





	1. Ain’t That a Kick in the Head?

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own My Hero Academia(Boku no Hero Academia), Fallout New Vegas, Fallout 3, Fallout 4, and any copyrighted or own things that I may mention.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, inter-dimensional travel hurts like hell.

His eyes opened slowly, taking in the light as his pupils widened and adjusted to the rays of the slowly rising sun, the air tasting just a little bit off and his body feeling a little numb but real sore.

He awkwardly grabbed at the floor, raising his torso to an upright position and groaned as his insides felt like the mush from a blender while his head felt as if he’d been hitting jet all night.

After not four seconds did the sun annoy him, but he just couldn’t be bothered to move too much aside from yawning and looking off to his left and into the dusty Mojave horizon where the cacti was green and the geckos ran amok while the wind crawled along at a Protectron’s pace.

Though this is only what he expected.

In truth his view was met with something near completely the opposite with tall structures like the ones from the Boneyard rising up from the horizon with lights emanating from them like lanterns in the distance. There were no gecko or cactus in sight, rather non-mutated birds fluttering about and the tops of trees filled with vibrant green leaves as if untouched by nuclear annihilation, swaying slowly as the breeze came through and touched his face so sweetly as it had many mornings before.

But horizon flickered back to the Mojave for just one second before flickering back to his new environment while his ears filled with the ringing of the aftermath of a grenade combined with the static of a distant radio signal or a broken television. It was odd as his body felt intensely hot and yet so cold, a searing pain ricocheting through his body quickly coming and leaving in a milliseconds, enough time for his head to register it and cause him to grunt while holding onto whatever he could for comfort.

His vision became obscured with flashing colors and distorting landscapes, the Mojave violently clashing with the cityscape before him as his ears filled with the scratching and static once more, pain bouncing within him as his heart pounded like heavy thunder against his chest, sweat coming from his pores feeling like acid upon his skin. His breathing became labored and heavy as if the oxygen around him was draining away like a bathtub drain, his vision flooded with new sights and sounds which would’ve been nice to see if it weren’t the fact they were all distorted and warped to the point of terror.

He could not think of anything but yearning for death, begging for release from this hell he had unintentionally found.

And then it simply ground to a halt in an instant and he released a held-in breath.

The world seemed darker now though, and the slow pitter-patter of the oncoming rain against the cold concrete floor was his only comfort as his confusion and the sore feeling in his neck overshadowed his thought process for a long while as he stared blankly at the setting sun.

Feeling tired and aching, he fell back against the concrete when the floor felt like a solid enough anchor for now. There he was for four minutes, slowly spiraling from pain to thought, discomfort to weariness.

Not feeling as though he had done much aside from being a laze, he struggled to lift his arm to read the dimmed yet flaring light of the Pip-Boy, two words making him do a double take at the map.

**_‘Musutafu, Japan’_ **


	2. Green Onions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to stretch his legs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song ‘Green Onions’ by Booker T. and the M.G.’s is a pretty nice song. Oh and the first fight scene is here! (But it’s uh, lackluster).
> 
> Constructive criticism please?
> 
> Oh and obligatory legal thing.
> 
> I do not own My Hero Academia(Boku no Hero Academia), Fallout New Vegas, 3, or 4, and any songs I may mention or any products or websites I might also mention. If I did then I’d be eating fancy grilled cheese with truffle.

“[Back to work!]”

Grumbling about how he was above this shit, he flipped the patties again, focusing on the smell of cooking meat rather than his current situation which at the moment is working a low paying job at a burger place for cash to live on the bare basics of what he needs.

Yeah, Caesar would be laughing in his grave if he saw the Courier working like this with a loud and obnoxious boss, cleaning up after little shits known as kids, wiping grease and oil off the floors, and mopping up that hobo’s shit and piss in the bathrooms.

He slipped the patty onto the bun, sliding the lettuce, cheese, tomato slice and second bun on top of it and was half tempted to just eat the damn thing, but he needed the money so he just let out a tired huff of air and wrapped it up with the branded paper.

* * *

Life is odd.

Counting the funds he had on hand and counted again to accurately check before he handed over the yen and picked up a small recyclable bag filled with mostly canned food and slung package of bottled water under his arm.

The air was cold, fitting as it was night. But the air was pure and only smelled lightly of grime and wet asphalt, no clicks coming from his trusty geiger counter meaning no background radiation, the birds fluttering and singing with no cysts or third legs proving it. Clean streets and lived in buildings with lights still shining was on either side of him and the occasional passing car made the difference for him alone as he took the left and walked towards home.

He passed by signs written in ‘Japanese’ with their ‘Kanji’ and ‘Hiragana’ being unreadable besides the occasional stutter and glitch letting him see one or maybe more random words shine through as english before cutting back to their home language.

It’d been a year since he found himself on that roof, it’d been a year since he’d seen the Mojave sunshine and lazy morning winds.

He gave out a small chuckle, reminiscing his first days just stumbling about like a crazed homeless man in a strange suit of armor and mumbling about things that didn’t exist, but that’s what they thought. Public Libraries helped him integrate and adjust to his new setting of a concrete jungle filled with people who mostly went about their lives and weren’t trying to mug, kill, or stab someone every waking hour and late night just to feed hungry bellies and parched throats.

People here had jobs which paid them ‘Yen’ and they lived off of that.

(He did too with a shitty job at the burger place but hey, it pays the bills and keeps a blind eye to his, _questionable_ , status as a citizen of the nation of Japan and resident in Musutafu.)

Looking up and shining a small grin, he hopped the fence and walked into the old and abandoned school building, walking slowly through the numerous little tricks and traps he’d set up and up the staircase to the second floor where he founded base camp in an old classroom.

It really wasn’t much; an elevated space in the indoor corner made with old tables with his sleeping bag on top, a refurbished chair tucked near the windows with the dented old ham radio on a school chair, a hot plate connected to a generator he’d built from scrap along with his utensils, torn out and gutted lockers serving as storage, and a small fire outside.

To be fair, it was fancier than most of his other camps whenever he ventured out of the cities and towns of the wasteland like Sanctuary, Diamond City, New Vegas, or Megaton.

Not too shabby and comfortable enough for himself.

(He fondly remembers the time he camped out at the General Atomics Headquarters in downtown Boston. The view was nice.)

The bag was torn open as he opened the tins of beans and vegetables just slightly and placed them onto the hot plate and left it to cook alongside some salted beef chuck on the fire, basically summing up his dinner plans for tonight.

Cold winds knocked on the windows as he moseyed over and flipped on the radio which belted out the local news, irony in that he couldn’t even understand the words coming out of it was ignored in favor of taking out cloth, a cleaning rod, and good old Angeline for cleaning despite the fact it had no real need for it.

It just felt nice was his only guess as to the why.

A quick chime brung him out of his admittedly dull thoughts and directed his attention to the meager meal he had prepared, “Fresh and Ready” he laughed a little as he pulled himself up and mixed it into the bean tin and ate from there.

* * *

He had a day off and slept for most of it, only to wake up at about 8:40 and start off his night plans.

He tied on his dusty old boots, spikes lacing the bottom and the toes covered with steel with a bit of Saturnite and faded US Army Stars emblazoned on the sides.

He threw on the ballistic weaved loose and olive green jumpsuit, tucking the legs into the boots and slid two ‘kitchen knives’ into their sheaths on the sides.

He snaked into the ballistic weaved and Saturnite Alloy plated flak jacket, slipping rounds, cartridges, keys and all into their own places. He twirled the long sleeved duster on and slid another knife.

He buckled on the belt and clipped on the pouches filled with medical supplies and other random bits and tools like bobby pins and Stimpaks.

He slipped on a tight black balaclava with ballistic weave too, sleek but dull in the light.

He laughed a bit, dusting off the helmet and slid that right on as well, two Army Stars emblazoned on the temples with scratched on words saying ‘ _SHOOT AGAIN!_ ’ pointing at a bullet dent right above where his left brow should be and two words scratched on the left temple area of it, ‘ _COURIER_ ’.

He put on gloves covered in rough steel, knuckles and all to give it a nice extra kick to his punches.

The weight felt natural and the rest of the armor parts like the kneepads, shinguards, bracers, thigh-guards, and the codpiece bit felt familiar and homey of sorts as he flexed and stretched a little.

Drawing in and letting out a breath through the interchangeable filter felt nice as it worked a little while masking his breathing and voice with a scrambler and damper.

Angeline was loaded up along with the Anti-Material Rifle and the Ranger Sequoia with the words ‘ _DEATH TO ALL TYRANTS_ ’ etched on with golden text and fancy rosary drawn in golden lines along the entire revolver.

Each and everything was in their place, the Pip-Boy felt snug against his arm, too long he’d gone without it to ‘fit in’ and now he’s just letting loose as he climbs the fire escape and hop across the alley with a landing a little less than graceful. With a shrug and a low ‘Whoop’ he just ran and ran, jumping and activating VATS to search for crime and any mishaps in the darkness below him.

God he felt free, stretching the muscles and letting out the ‘Courier’ to roam the night.

The moon shone dull but nice against the armor and cool late night wind whipped and parted as he darted right across those old alley ways when he found what he’d been looking for.

Crime.

So he slung out Angeline and perched himself on top of the ledge, listening to the conversation occurring below between mugger and, uh, mugee? (He didn’t really know)

“[-and] over [all the cash] y’got [damnit!]”

Shit. He didn’t actually think this far.

He can’t speak Japanese. Or at least that much Japanese anyway.

A bit of a problem if he does say so himself.

Looking back at the scene occurring below, it had escalated to the point where the mugger had begun advancing toward the muggee. (That’s a word now)

He slid over the awning and shimmied down a drainage pipe a little awkwardly until the mugger noticed him and he noticed him noticing him.

“[Shit, a] hero!”

He fell off the pipe and stumbled onto his feet before breaking into a chase after the mugger, footsteps splashing in the light coat of rainwater from last night.

They continued running as the mugger ducked through some more alleys, grabbing a dumpster and shoving it sideways along with a couple other garbage cans in failed attempts to slow him down.

Finally at the dead facing a grimy brick wall, the mugger tried to stand his ground by flaring his quirk, spikes in the knuckles.

Yeah, friggin’ Wolverine over here.

“[Die!]”

He wasn’t gonna take this guy’s shit.

Both charged forward, the mugger wildly slashing at the Courier while he blocked with the bracers on his arms until the mugger slowed from exhaustion, a single steel enhanced punch decking him in the jaw hard enough for a one hit knock out.

Except it didn’t.

“[Fuhhckin’ bhstad!]” he slurred and tried to charge at him again before receiving two rapid strikes at the diaphragm and the face, forcing the mugger to stumble back bloodied and fall unconscious.

The whole thing was nticlimactic really. At least he didn’t have to take down a hulking mass of meat.  
  


(He did _not_ enjoy fighting Swan, thank you very much)

* * *

His nightly outings went on like this although on occasion he would head out in the day for an impromptu patrol to stretch his legs and feel the rush again before he would have to take the night shifts. It was therapeutic really, running out on the roof tops and dropping down to deliver a hard knock to the head of justice.

Like a superhero. Except this was technically vigilantism but not really as he didn’t use a quirk (Nor did he really have one) and he was somewhat protected by the law.

Legal bullshit and all that.

Another side was the fact that he still didn’t know what else to do besides the night runs and working. Could he look for a way back home to his friends and family? Realistically he couldn’t despite the information jammed into his head about the complexities of Big MT Science and Mobius’s batshit crazy ramblings which _somehow_ made sense.

If anything, he’d just have to sing prayers to ‘god’ or whoever else and just keep hoping that whatever brought him here would take him back.

At this rate he misses the fucking megalomanic and hellbent-on-world-annihilating Toaster.

Hell he misses everybody.

Even Boone and his edgy peo talks, even Charon and his lack of talking, hell even Deacon and the fact the guy seemingly had a hobby and knack for pissing him off just enough that he wouldn’t throttle the Agent.

“[We have a] mess [in the boys bathroom on the] second floor, [could you go] clean [it up?]” came an order from the radio.

With a heavy sigh, he responded to the radio call with a “[Yes]”.

The job at that burger place was more honorable than cleaning shit, unclogging toilets and now dreaming of smacking more than a few kids upside the head for doing some stupid shit that made his job harder.

_Shit._


	3. Why Don’t You Do Right?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peggy Lee this time around, Midoriya trying his best and Bakugou being, Bakugou.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own My Hero Academia(Boku no Hero Academia), Fallout New Vegas, 3, or 4, and any songs I may mention or any products or websites I might also mention. If I did then I’d be eating fancy grilled cheese with truffle.

“Shitty Deku!”

A thump sounded from the brick wall followed by sniffling and panic from the smaller boy with a head of messy green hair and green irises glistening with tears in his eyes.

“K-Kacchan, w-w-wait I-I c-ca—“

An explosion cracked from the blonde’s hand which frightened the lad on the ground, ‘Deku’, quite terribly with a rabid and pissed look on the face of ‘Kacchan’ staring him down.

“Don’t even fucking bother. I told you once, I fucking told you twice to quit tryin’ to be sumthin’ you good-for-nothing, useless, shitty, QUIRKLESS FUCKING **DEKU**!” ‘Kacchan’ barked out, clearly seething in anger and frustration with his hand grabbing at ‘Deku’s’ shoulder and muscles tensing to let out another explosion onto the boy’s singed and dirtied uniform.

A yelp of pain and more crying followed as ‘Kacchan’ scoffed and turned to walk away, the lackeys behind him laughing as they too walked away with ‘Kacchan’.

Alone, ‘Deku’ cried and huddled his knees close, those deep green irises staring into the near mockingly perfect blue sky dotted with fluffy white clouds as if taunting him for his imperfections as if it was laughing at him for being nothing but a useless _Deku_.

* * *

“Izuku, why are your clothes so dirty?”

He couldn’t bear or sum up any courage within his frail body to spit out the harsh truth that Kacchan, Katsuki Bakugou, had been bullying, belittling, and torturing him for over half a decade for the crime of being quirkless.

I stumbled and fell on the way home, i-in the park”

A sick lie that made his heart tear itself in lying to his own _mother_ , the one person who’s supposed to care about him.

“Oh dear, I’ll put your uniform in the wash tonight but you go get yourself cleaned up in the shower while I make some lunch for you”

Izuku nodded and walked into his room, pulling out some clean clothes and stumbled into the bathroom with shoulders slumped and mind racing with thoughts of today’s events.

Perhaps a cold shower would help.

(He didn’t think so)

* * *

_TONIGH—_

_RECENT M_ —

_RISE IN VIL_ —

_ALL MIGHT SAV_ —

_ADVANCES IN ME—_

_UA SPORTS FESTIV—_

_NEW HEROES YOU NEE—_

_PRESS RELEASE FROM RECE—_

He scrolled past headlines after headline describing the going on the world around him, mostly about heroes and villains as per usual although the UA Sports Festival is making headlines with performances from the Hero Course being especially fantastic as usual.

Maybe with a little luck he could-

‘ _QUIRKLESS FUCKING **DEKU**_!’

Shaking his head and grabbing his cheeks, the words still stung and they always did for each and every single curse and colorful speech to mock him for crying, for being insecure, for trying to fight back, for being quirkless. None of the teachers did anything, nor did anyone else like his peers or even a stranger.

A small laugh escaped his lips.

_Maybe he should just_ —

No.

“Fuck” he murmured, pushing himself back and out of the chair to stumble again to his bed for the next day which would just is filled with more lies and Kaccha—!

His body seized with his nerves shooting pain through him like angry thunder just struck. He couldn’t even scream in pain to let out the building fear inside and instead could only a release small gasp as he crumpled down to his knees in silent pain.

His body convulsed with every movement unleashing a renewed torrent of pain which forced his body to release sweat that felt like it was acid upon his skin and his breathing to become labored for oxygen that no longer was there.

His eyes saw bright flashes and brief glimpses of a desert with soft rolling winds accompanied by the warm kiss of the early morning sun that wasn’t there.

His ears were filled with heavy warbling and static that just pounded through his eardrums and just wouldn’t stop ringing.

And then it came to a sudden stop.

“I-Izuku? Are you okay in there? I heard a thump”

Izuku wheezed as he clawed at the carpet for comfort, “I’m fine, just slipped”

A half-truth at most, but enough while he climbed onto his bed and slowly cradled his sore body.

Perhaps tomorrow would be better.

Perhaps.

That was his thought as the rain hit the glass with a soft pitter-patter like a soft lullaby to his sleep, be it a nightmare or dream it didn’t matter.

_It was better than reality either way_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah boy, I have worked up courage once more! 
> 
> (Just a note, I’m sorta making Izuku hate Bakugou yet belittle himself and the whole spiral from there.)
> 
> Next chapter we continue to follow Izuku Midoriya? Will he rise to the top? (Obviously but I’m still procrastinating about it so til’ next time! TALLY HO!)


	4. I’ll Be Lucky Someday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someday will be his lucky day, soon anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own My Hero Academia(Boku no Hero Academia), Fallout New Vegas, 3, or 4, and any songs I may mention or any products or websites I might also mention. If I did then I’d be eating fancy grilled cheese with truffle.

He really wanted to throw up.

_”Ghgk!”_

Bakugou threw another punch, this time bruising his stomach which, well at least it wasn’t the head so that made it just a bit better.

”You’re really fucking pathetic if you can’t even take a punch! But what could I expect from a weak quirkless fuck like you!” Bakugou yelled at Izuku again before throwing another punch right at the ribs.

It hurt, yeah, that much is obvious.

”Hell, you’re good for one thing and that’s practice!” Bakugou mocked again, launching another fist at Izuku’s gut with a sharp explosion erupting and sending Izuku tumbling to the floor and skid across it.

But a bit of him felt like he deserved this, like he deserved to be beaten because he’s just that _useless_. Another part just feels like he should just-

”Get it!? Did you get that through your thick fucking skull!? YOU’RE WORTHLESS, SO STOP!” Another blast delivered straight to the gut.

”TRYING!” A larger blast struck his battered shoulders.

” **TO BE MORE THAN A DEKU!** ” A final blast as Katsuki struck him right across the jaw and Izuku was sent flying from the force of the lunch and fell limp across the cold concrete floor.

He smiled inside a little and hugged the floor as if it would bring him comfort. ’It’s kinda my only friend’.

”Tch, maybe it actually got through your head that you’re just another useless extra” Bakugou sneered and spat at the floor, turning on his heel and walking away.

Izuku started to cry then, tears pouring out his eyes as he cried and cried for reasons he tried to think of.

That he was useless, quirkless, a sack of shit that couldn’t throw a punch or defend himself. That he was a stumbling idiot who couldn’t compare to those with quirks, an insignificant pebble on Kacchan’s golden brick road to glory and fame. That he was a bug who just annoyed Kacchan to no end and that he really is just _worthless_.

Maybe, he’ll be lucky someday.

Maybe his luck will change someday.

He laughed bitterly.

As if...

—

The following days went like that. The days always went like that with him leaving the apartment to school and trying to do his best while Kacchan just tormented him over and over, then coming home and trying to explain about all the bruises and grime.

He’d always have to try and be positive, just enough to give his mom a smile and stave off the sadness, fear, and the rest of the darker parts of his head.

Sure he had good grades, great ones actually. He really could get into most elite high schools and universities with grades like his, but he still held onto his battered, shaken, and crumbling dreams of U.A. like a lifeline.

At this point, it might as well be.

But his brain was confused by something else. A year ago he felt some kind of pain worse than years of Kacchan’s beatings and jeering combined, pain worse than anything really. Two hours later it was like nothing happened, his mother and almost him just forgot.

So he looked up symptoms and scrolled through any credible and even non-credible websites he could find for answers whenever he could but it still brought up nothing.

The pain would come back every now and then, about once a month if the pattern would stay consistent which it usually didn’t, striking one week and three times the next.

It just annoyed him that he couldn’t figure out the _why_ of that night, _why_ did it happen to him and _why_ it’s so hard to remember, let alone impossible for his mother. (She always just gave him a confused and concerned look whenever he brought it up)

Punching himself did nothing, nothing did anything.

He groaned and shifted to the other side of the bed restless, his thoughts just screaming at him in different tones and voices. So he plucked his phone away from the charging cable and took out the cube. ‘Maybe a little internet surfing would do’ was the thought process as he pulled it up, entered his password, and began scrolling through news article after article.

A good chunk of it was gossip, hero stats, recent victories oradvertisements although among all of that were a few articles that stood out to him.

_NEW VIGILANTE ON THE SCENE?_

Probably the only thing that wasn’t directly related to heroes (Blame it on filters) so he pressed the little icon and began to read as if it would work as a bedtime story or something.

_Recently in Musutafu and the surrounding areas, there has been word of a new vigilante roaming the streets at night while the Police have been finding muggers and murderers with their faces punched in. These events have been occurring since about a year ago and have been spiking in recent weeks Detective Mitsue Seiryo, the lead officer on this case, commented when asked._

_This new vigilante has eluded most heroes’ interests besides lower-ranking ones who still cannot catch this new vigilante who has been dubbed ‘The Ranger’ due to this extremely rare, non-blurred picture._

The picture, despite being called ‘non-blurred’ was still shaky and poor in quality but what was visible was a chest plate with only ‘ _NIA RANGER NO_ ’ being actually readable.

_Authorities still have no information regarding quirk or a physical description besides spotty details from detainees. From what has been released we warn you that if you see a 195 Cm tall male in a large coat and general military clothing with a helmet and face respirator, please contact the proper authorities immediately and do not approach._

_Learn more here at the official public database he_ —

Reading this article really was a terrible idea. Izuku’s head began to swim in questions as each and every string in his brain began connecting to form something cohesive. So Izuku went to the public database and began staring at the map while his mind untangled the mess until it found a pattern, which it did.

Each and every act of vigilantism was committed in a different location but they all formed a ring of sorts which when he visually measured each distance and formed the ring, pointed out a smaller area in which is where the vigilante must’ve been based. Izuku’s fingers darted across the screen and to the map where he focused on the smaller circle, searching through street view, satellite, and records for a place where a vigilante would be.

Then Izuku found it, an old schoolhouse that is near to where the first cases occurred, near the center of the circle of cases, and is a reasonable location with plenty of space to live and work from as a base.

“Ow,” Izuku hissed, his eyes stinging from staring at the screen for too long. He checked the clock which read ‘11:14’, making him bumble and rush to put the phone away and shut his eyes in a desperate attempt to sleep.

Maybe next week he could investigate.


	5. Have You Ever Seen The Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some Creedence Clearwater Revival for this and next chapter. (You can already guess the next one’s name)
> 
> The meeting begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way there might be spoilers for New Vegas but I’m going to assume you all already know what happens in the end of the game. Oh and I don’t own New Vegas, Fallout 3,4, DLCs, songs used in the title and or text, My Hero Academia, or any brands stated in this fic. All rights belong to their respective owners.
> 
> (If I did I’d be pinkies up while sipping some chocolate milk with truffle)

You would think having the reputation, armor, and weapons would make his job a hell of a lot easier.

For the record and an obvious fact, no it did not make the job easier.

The word ‘Damn’ ran through his mind a couple of times, his knuckles already feeling numb even with the protective padding. He found his stance again and swung his leg into the thug’s knee to force him down again.

“[Fuck—!]”

He sprung off his planted foot and drove a fist across the thug’s face for the straight knockout, blood spurting from the fresh wound.

“[Bas]tard!” Another thug yelled and powered up their quirk, a mud-caked first slamming into the Vigilante’s spine with the back armor mostly shrugging it off.

Thinking quickly, the Vigilante pulled out a revolver with the words _‘DEATH TO ALL TYRANTS’_ engraved on it and swung for the pistol whip in the face. The thug’s arm caught the swing, ”[That the] best you [can do!]” they laughed and threw a haymaker into his gut, the fist falling apart and the thug’s knuckles now bloody raw.

”Shit!” The thug howled in pain, surprise, surprise again when the Vigilante drove home a punch into the diaphragm and forced a hard wheeze out of the Thug. He followed up by shoving the thug down with a body slam and knocked him out with one last pistol whip across the face.

He stood up a bit and observed the small battleground with guns strewn about, a car with a couple dents and smashed windows, a couple of unconscious bodies, and a popped open trunk with some suspicious cases. Out of habit he fished out a couple things from their pockets, took out the cartridges, and took some clothes off a few of the thugs.

A few minutes later and he had the cartridges, spare change, some coupons, a watch, a nice leather jacket, some boots, jeans, socks, three cases and a fixable pair of sunglasses.

(Yes, he’s stingy enough to not even go to a bargain place but instead rob people. Old habits die hard)

He cracked his knuckles, ‘ _Not a bad haul_ ’ he thought as he ran forward and begun scaling the wall. No doubt someone would’ve heard either the gun shots or incoherent yelling and he really didn’t want to deal with heroes so he hauled ass across the rooftops with as much agility he could muster.

* * *

He sprinted across roof after roof, some of them with little gardens on top, others just being plain concrete. It was exhilarating to say least, the feeling of freedom and the small doses of adrenaline flowing through him aided that feeling. Sure it was cold and a little gusty but that could hardly his mood and the objective in his head to just soak in some warm water to reward himself.

What, he worked hard too! Swept floors, flipped burgers, dealt with annoying customers and brats, got punched more times he could count and nearly got impaled a few times. It didn’t really hold a candle to the rest of his 40 or more years of existence in the wasteland but it was different and definitely challenging in the form of boredom, quirks, and an existential crisis or two.

And he was no psychologist himself but he was pretty sure something was wrong in his head besides the two or three bullet wounds. Evidence being the fact he still talked to his brain every now and then, even if he couldn’t actually talk with it anymore.

(The first time was still weird)

Even with that, he wasn’t crazy but just a man with one or two screws loose. You want crazy, go look at Elijah or the Big MT Nutjobs because those bastards were all insane.

“Shit...” He grumbled as his left knee felt a little sore and his shoulder just clicked every now and then so he came to a halt for a breather. That’s when he turned himself to the left and stared off in the distance to the slowly setting sun, something he hardly ever focused.

It was, beautiful to say the least. Something about the vibrant colors and the distant waves of the sea made it oddly enjoyable. Heck, even the slow, cold and gentle breeze on which his duster rode on made the whole experience just ascend.

“ _You see that you and I are of a different stripe, don't you? We don't have to dream that we're important. We are._ ”

Memories of House dredged up from somewhere, along with the hatred which clouded his eyes.

“ _I showed them total warfare. Like I said, there's a lot you can learn from old books._ ”

Caesar was a real shitface too, forcing up more memories and old thoughts.

“ _I am President John Henry Eden, and this is my pledge — no one, NO ONE will take this great nation away from me!_ "

Eden wasn’t even a man yet the humanity in the machine was real lacking.

“ _The Institute... It's important. It really is humanity's best hope for the future, no matter what those above ground might think of us._ ”

And that ‘Father’ nutjob was real condescending too.

“ _We shall see how brave you are when nailed to the walls of Hoover Dam, your body facing west so you may watch your world die._ ”

He chuckled a little when he finally drew up those words from Lanius, he laughed actually when he felt the memories all flow back in like the tide. Then he glanced to his right and his eyes saw the imposing figure of Lanius next to him in the state he was before he mauled the man—no, beast, to death. Small chills went down his spine but he dare not move an inch, instead standing straight with a brave face.

“ _ **Ĭ̴̦t̵̠́ ̴͎̎h̵̘͒á̸͈s̷͕͝ ̵͔̿b̷̙̀ě̴͎e̸̩̽n̷̖͊ ̵̻͛y̷͕̍e̶͕͋ȧ̶̯r̵̡̕s̶̬͝ ̷̻̈́ŝ̷̢í̸̼ṅ̷̦c̷̈́͜e̵̥̓ ̸̙̿m̷̦̔y̵̧͒ ̷̧͑d̴̗͑ḛ̷́f̶͈͠e̵̮̊a̵̯͊t̶͉̚,̶̟̕ ̷͔̇h̴̠͐ä̴̡s̴̥̐n̷̝̐’̷̺̽t̸̯̾ ̸̖͛i̴͖͗t̶̖͗?̶̯͑ ̸̢͊S̸̝͝i̴̜̚ǹ̸͇c̵͚̄ě̷̙ ̶̘̔y̴̪͠o̶͚̿ṵ̴̎ ̸͉̊s̸̩̔l̷̙͛ḁ̵͊ś̴̳h̶͖̃ė̸̠d̵̟̒ ̷̜̔m̶͉͛y̶̨͐ ̷̛̼t̶̞̋h̵̡̍r̸̯̎o̶̪̎ạ̷̌t̸͔́ ̷̦͂a̵͍͒n̸̲͌d̷͚̀ ̴̺̋h̶̲̕ã̶̮d̵̞̆ ̵̢̍s̵̺͘l̷̪͑a̴̲͝i̴̢͐n̸̢̏ ̶̡̛ţ̴̄h̴̳͠e̷͕̎ ̶̣̈́B̴̲̆u̸̿ͅl̶̯̓l̴̩̇.̶͕̈́**_ ” Lanius’s warped voice rasped, his body and armor shifting and warping.

“It has, and I still hold no regrets on my decisions that day” He spoke almost quietly then, listening to Lanius give a small grunt of acknowledgement.

“ _ **H̸̫̕n̴̕͜h̴̗̋,̸̧̄ ̸͔́v̷͙͠e̸̗͝š̸͓t̷͈͋ỉ̷̳g̷̬͊ì̶ͅa̸͓͆ ̴͎͗n̷̞͆ù̶̱l̴̢̅l̶̜͐ȃ̸͎ ̴̪̅r̸̼̒e̷̙̎t̶̮̊r̷̮̓o̶̿͜r̸̺̕s̶̰͝ṵ̴̈́m̸̜̐.̴̯̈ ̴̠̂Ḏ̶̒ó̴̠ ̵͉̚y̶̯̿o̸̺͠ù̸̺ ̷̖̎k̷͚̕n̷̖͒ǫ̵̈́w̷͓̉ ̸͚̚w̶̱͐h̶̀ͅa̶̧̓t̶̋͜ ̴̣̽t̸̯͒h̸̺̅a̸͍̍t̶̻́ ̴͍̿m̸̟̚ë̵̹ā̵͕n̶͙͋š̶͕,̴̣͂ ̷͖͠C̸̣͋o̴̞̓ȕ̶̩r̴̓ͅi̷̯̅é̴ͅȑ̶̥?̴̲͝**_ ” Lanius spoke again, seemingly staring at the same horizon.

“Never a backing step. I figured that would’ve been the Legion motto.” The Courier chuckled, glancing at Lanius again whose figure still warped and ‘glitched’.

“ ** _I̶͎̕t̸͉̉ ̵͖̽s̵̼͌ẽ̴͕ȩ̷̛m̷̝̒s̵̡̔ ̷̼̆á̵̹g̴̭͌e̴͙̐ ̵̹̀ḩ̵̈́a̶͕͌s̶̤͊ ̵͔͋t̵̠̍r̴̻̀e̸͉̐a̵̘̕ẗ̸̪ě̴̪d̵̪͛ ̸̖͌ỹ̸̩o̵͕͛ū̴͔ ̷̧̅k̷̮͠i̵͇͠n̷̝͝d̶̛͚ĺ̶͖y̶̝̆ ̷̭̈t̸̳̃h̶̛̤ȇ̵̖n̴͂ͅ,̴̝̆ ̴̰͒ ̴̬̀b̶̼͒u̶̖̽t̷͎̂ ̵͓̔h̵̭͑e̴̖̚e̸̳̒d̵͔̄ ̶̹̑t̷̟͐h̸̰̽i̵̩̿s̷͔̒ ̷̟̍p̶͎̌h̴̅ͅr̶̗̐a̷͖̅s̷̫͋e̴͉͝ ̷͚̀ẅ̷̬́ẹ̷̎l̵̥̃l̵͉̅,̴̰́ ̵̣̈́C̶͙̔o̴̞̍u̷̬͑ṟ̵̃i̸̠̕é̴̠r_** ,” Lanius rasped again, but now the warbling had lessed greatly and the Courier could hear these four words just a bit more clearly, “ _ **V̴i̷t̸a̷ ̷i̶n̴c̶e̷r̶t̷a̶,̶ ̶m̸o̵r̶s̴ ̵c̷e̶r̶t̴i̵s̶s̵i̶m̵a̶.̵**_ ”

When the Courier looked to his right again, the tall and imposing man had left without a trace, a gust of wind made him snap out of it and stare back to the horizon.

“I guess I am going crazy...” Whispering to no one or someone, he didn’t really know.

His left hand pulled at the duster while his right dug into a pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, gold and silver shining on it when he looked down to it. “Hph” He scoffed a bit and tucked it back in for another time.

Meanwhile, he was gonna have another argument with the ol’ noggin another time.  
  


* * *

A few more steps, leaps, and grasping at fire escapes and ledges, he had made it home with only some soreness. His mind swam with thoughts of relaxing, taking a soak, maybe a drink and then hitting the sack but it drifted from leisure to Lanius.

‘ _Of all times to knock and he does it there. Then again it wasn’t like I was doing much but hell, why did I even talk with him, how?_ ’ Was his hot question that he couldn’t answer at all. That feeling was shit and he wasn’t foreign to it but damnit, it was a pain in the ass that he’d never get used to.

‘ _Screw it, forget about Lanius and just relax now and get ready for the next shift_.’ With a small grin forming on his face, he landed on the roof near the southwest and began his walk over to the roof access. At that point he was thinking about treating himself to some nice food, maybe, or some actual new clothes.

Then his ears perked up and he crouched down low, the click of boots silenced as he listened closely to the sounds of rattling and footsteps.

An intruder.

He cursed in his head as he drew out Angeline and slowly walked over to the edge and slipped in through the emergency exit he’d made some time ago. ‘ _Just my fuckin’ luck..._ ’ He swore again while taking shallow breaths and stood up with Angeline held by the barrel and stock up.

_‘3’_

More shuffling came from the room.

_‘2’_

He could’ve sworn he heard someone talking.

‘ _1!_ ’

Too late though as he hollered out a cry and slammed the door open while clobbering someone’s head with the stock. The Courier quickly flipped Angeline around and pointed it at the head of the—

Kid?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, Midoriya and the culmination of this short arc. Oh and I might do more of these stats for other characters as they pop up.


	6. Fortunate Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fate begins to shine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re almost there! By the way, woo over 500 Hits! Sorry for how slow we’re progressing in the story but I’m gonna stick to it! (Not because I’m making up for the short-ish chapters)
> 
> Oh and I don’t own My Hero Academia, the Fallout Franchise, or any product, company, song, and copyrights mentioned in this work. All credit goes to their creators and publishers otherwise I’d be nibbling on a Tuna Melt with Caviar.

Izuku found himself staring at his phone again, this time after school had ended and he was now safely at home with papers strewn about and around him. Sunlight still poured in despite it being past 4:00 and the window was cracked open to let in some circulation.

He swiped near mindlessly, headlines new and old flying past the screen. Some were interesting but most were just dull or didn’t appeal to him.

_MIRU_ —

_ALL MIGH_ —

_CASUALTIES RI_ —

_FASHION IN JAPAN_ —

_STOCK MARKET RISIN—_

_VIGILANTE STRIKES AGAIN!_

Vigilante?

He pressed on the article and began reading text after text when it finally clicked in his head. What clicked was the fact that he forgot about the whole ‘Explore-the-building’ adventure. When it clicked, he internally screamed and rocked himself back and forth for a minute or two.

‘ _Well, if I forgot it then it’s not really important then?_ ’ Izuku smiled a bit then, but a second thought countered ‘ _Then again, I don’t have anything to do besides study over the weekend_...’

Izuku groaned and violently shook his head to halt a train of thought that had already left the station.

Numerous outcomes flowed through his head, ones where he died, ones where he was praised by Kacchan, ones where he was the hero, most were him dying though. There were a few that peaked his interest, those being the ones where he’s trained to be a hero.

Which was as likely to happen as the ‘Kacchan-Praising-Izuku’ scenario, a close zero. After all, why would a vigilante train a hero whose job is to take down vigilantes? But alas, Izuku couldn’t deny the chance was still there unlike the ‘K-P-I’ scenario which made his head turn even more at the chances of death.

Really there was a 50/50 chance he’d either die or live and if he lived WELL that was even more thinking but what if he died? Would they even care, would anyone care? Maybe his mother but—

“Izuku? A-are you okay in there?”

Izuku quickly snapped out of his muttering and quickly said “I’m, fine mom”, waiting silently as he tensed; “Okay..” she said with a twinge of worry her voice while he relaxed back onto the floor while he let his mind swim. Thoughts of death, life, and infinite possibilities ran through his head like calculations.

‘ _What if I die a nobody?_ ’

‘ _What if I live, scarred?_ ’

‘ _What if my dream is just put to rest?_ ’

‘ _What happens if my dream comes true?_ ’

Then a sudden realization hit him like a Detroit Smash.

Even if he managed to grasp his dream, he hasn’t done anything to help himself. No weight training, no fitness regimen, no training, nothing at all to prepare for heroism besides his own above average intelligence.

‘ _Idiot!_ ’ Izuku cursed at himself for one of the largest and only oversights he’d ever had, feeling like he should probably slam his head on a wall or something for being so shortsighted. But a concussion wouldn’t do anything to help him, no.

Izuku resolved the small inner conflict in himself and did decide to go and so rubbing his temples, the boy slowly stood up and walked over to the All Might Calendar and marked a weekend day along with putting on a sticky note next to it.

Now then, time to look up a training regimen and not die immediately. That’d just be embarrassing.

* * *

  
“Deku...” The word was spat out of Katsuki’s mouth like it was something disgusting.

“Y-yes Ka-kacchan?” Izuku squeaked from surprise and oncoming fear.

“Did you finally give up on that false fucking hope yet, bastard?”

Izuku didn’t move, lift a finger, or emanate fear anymore but instead just stood near still and just muttered a bit.

“What the fuck was that? Couldn’t hear you giving up so you need to speak the fuck up, Deku.” There was a sadistic smile on Katsuki’s face which also bore the resemblance of a feral animal.

“I said I _won’t_ give it up.” Those words came out with an unusual confidence and a slight mocking tone. (Although ‘mocking’ is all Katsuki heard)

In an instant, Katsuki’s rage boiled over and shattered his self control. Any hint of mercy aside besides no intent to kill was gone in the same time frame and he launched forward with a fist extended.

Izuku reared his head at Katsuki which proved to be a mistake when his fist clocked Izuku’s jaw, another fist hitting it again. Katsuki sent a foot sent straight into Izuku’s back and forced the boy to tumble onto the ground. Pure rage marked Bakugou’s face as he pulled Izuku up by the collar and began repeatedly punching him in the face.

“When. Are. You. Going. To! **GIVE!** UP!” Bakugou roared in frustration at **Deku,** the boy who dared to even try and challenge himself when Deku didn’t even have a shitty quirk.

“Admit it! Admit that you’re just worthless trash that can’t compete with me! FUCKING ADMIT THAT A PIECE OF SHIT LIKE YOU!” Katsuki began slamming Izuku’s face into the ground while seething incomprehensible rage.

“CAN **NEVER!”** Another slam into the ground

**“BE** **A**!” By this point, Izuku was seeing stars.

“ **FUCKING HERO**! **_EVER!”_** And finally Katsuki dropped Izuku after a firm beating, spitting on the ground near the quirkless boy. He stood up and shoved his hands into the pants’ pockets, storming off.

A cold gust swept through Izuku’s hair, the sound of it only slightly masking his sobbing. Tears, sweat, and blood mixed on the ground as he thought to himself for a while on the ground.

_‘Kacchan...’_

Each tear that fell didn’t burn or pain his heart.

‘ _I will be a hero, I’ll prove it to you_ ’

Each tear that fell was filled with determination, with hope. Hope stemming from his dream which he’d make sure that it would come true.

Even if it meant the possibility of death. But, why did he have to fear that too?

—

The days after the accident had been rocky with his mother, he spent an hour or two convincing and arguing then crying with his mother about his whole going outside business. By the end of their hours long debate though, his mother had given him permission to head outside.

”Oh god, oh god, I’m a-actually d-doing th-this. Woah, o-okay, calm down Izuku, j-just a quick t-trip a-and bac-back!” Izuku stuttered while the feeling of uneasiness and eagerness filled him. Slapping himself on the cheeks in an attempt to calm himself down, Izuku headed outside and off to his destination.

_‘What if—‘_

Izuku stopped when he grabbed the door knob, the cold metal seemingly snapping a jolt of sense into him.

‘No. I _will_ do this’

He let out a heavy breath and pulled the door open, wind rushing from the sudden vortex.

At the point Izuku was now, he wasn’t menacing in any actual way besides the ability to throw up a hastily mustered glare. He couldn’t lie to himself, he was scrawny, quirkless, and his hardheadedness was _not_ supported by anything. Aside from knowing how to _not_ throw a punch and vaguely knowing how to defend himself, he had no idea how to fight.

Maybe if he met this vigilante, they might help him. That thought was ridiculous though because why would they train someone like himself? If anything, he’d probably end up dead or just knocked out on the floorbut despite those risks he _wanted_ to take it. Anything that would have the chance to help him so he could help others.

Well, _mostly_ everything...

-

He shivered a bit, the streets were mostly empty save for some parked cars and a couple homeless people.

He was in a sort of ‘poor’ area of Musutafu, where some of the most crime occurred and rookie heroes often went, most came back battered but others would come back with a new reputation. Most of the buildings here looked caked with grime, bricks loose, corroded metal. wrecked cars and trash still strewn about. It made some sense though, there was a high enough crime rate, someone could easily blend in and not be questioned, and most heroes here were rookies. With all those factors, a vigilante setting up here made the most sense.

Still, without nerves of steel he felt uncomfortable and shivers often travelled down his spine as he walked to his destination which should be down the street.

With a couple more steps and a turn around the corner he saw the building in front of him, a decrepit old school building. Apparently it used to be called ‘Illusafu High School’ until it got shutdown after a hero versus villain battle crashed into it. Looking off to the side, Izuku saw that there was still evidence of the battle between some unknown villain and a young Endeavor.

Izuku walked to the gate and began climbing it nervously as he’d never had to climb a fence or something until now.

“O-oh, now I-I know how to d-do it I gu-guess.” He said with a slight twinge of pride to no one snd began walking to the front door when he saw something peculiar. Stopping suddenly and leaning just slightly Izuku could make out a shine along a thin string.

A _tripwire._

Looking around it, he also spotted other things like hanging girders, spring boards, broken glass on the floor and rope.

_Traps._

-

To say the least, he was out of breath.

Dozens of traps and tricks later and he had mostly explored the first, second, and third floors save for the west wing of the third floor. ‘ _Just a few more rooms_...’ He tried to stay positive as his search had turned up empty handed.

He walked down the empty hallway and begun taking notice of tables with machinery stuck onto them or construction lights placed at a few places to provide some light. Soon he looked into a bathroom and saw evidence of habitation with buckets and a toothbrush with toothpaste on one sink.

Izuku pressed his hand against the door to the last classroom and jiggled the handle only to find it locked. Trying to break it down would make too much noise, giving up would be a waste of the effort he had already put in, so he checked his pockets and pulled out a paper clip and took a screwdriver from one of the benches.

‘ _Wedge the thing here I think, and feel for the clicks here and_...’

After a couple minutes of trying and one or two broken paper clips, he opened the door slowly and walked in with nothing short of curiosity.

Before him he saw two lockers on the floor, another workbench in the corner, a couple of desks pushed together in one corner with a sleeping bag on top, and a small open container. In it was a simple notebook though a bit battered and worn was still readable. Again out of curiosity he opened it and read what was inside.

~~_Dear, Hello Well Hi_ ~~

_I cant beleve Im actually going to write a journal but I am. Its day something I forgot but I think its been about a year now since Ive moved in here. Ajusting has been hard but I find it allrigh_ —

Izuku flipped a few pages ahead and already he was unconsciously muttering theories and questions. Despite the fact it was english he still read it pretty well. (There had been an American Exclusive Comic Series for All Might, okay?)

_I think it’s day 472 or was it 493? I don’t think it matters. I miss Boone, I miss Cass, I miss Dogmeat, I even miss the genocidal toaster now. But I can’t just stay and think about that. That’s why I even have this journal in the first place, to vent and remember shit._

_I like being a vigilante. It sort of helps pay my expenses besides my regular jobs and I get to stretch my legs while I’m at it. I wonder when I could go back to New Vegas though. Back to my univers_ —

Izuku had near fully devolved into a mumbling and muttering mess as ideas flew this his head as he read the journal. Who the heck are Boone, Cass, and what is New Vegas? His universe!?

What did they mean by ‘my unive—‘!?

Izuku flinched when he heard the door slam open and quickly turned his head only to be met with a quickly approaching object and yelling.

The object, was the stock of a gun and it _hurt_.


	7. Bad Moon Rising

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you’d look over there, you’d see that...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this came so late and might not even be what you want. I’ll likely have the next chapter up next month so look out for that.

_I see the bad moon a-rising_

_I see trouble on the way_

_I see earthquakes and lightnin'_

_I see bad times today_

—

Foot soldiers in red came running down the streets, the shrill screams of women and children echoeing through the air of the hallways, and homes. Cloth uniforms with their crude armor strapped on flapped and swung as they rushed in teams. The night crested over the horizon and back but the shadows could not hide the clothes of the men, the red bearing their sins, a representation the blood they’ve spilt. Each team of these men, clad in their crimson and silver,carried the banner of their allegiance, the wild bull with its brutish horns splayed across the crimson red cloth.

Tucked in a plain office above a soup kitchen and within the confines of Tokyo, a man in fine clothes topped with combed hair scribbled orders and pushed pencils. The man was fraught with experience but plagued by his age it would seem. No matter his condition though, it didn’t hinder the work he did, not one bit.

Looming in the dark though, on a silver pole with polished cedar and behind him was that same terrible banner that all his men of sin carried. Under his solid desk, tucked in a hidden compartment, were the old clothes that he wore so fervently years ago when he served as a loyal subordinate to Swallow. In front of him was pen and paper on which he wrote the orders that he wrote himself and to men that were truly his own as he led an organization he’d worked so hard to build.

For them it was a blessing and a duty to carry on the will of Caesar and Mars no matter the costs and no matter the challenge.

For him his loyalty to Caesar was dead outside of appearances to his men because now it came time to carry out his own will in his own name.

If it meant conquering this nation rather than the old lands of the Legion, then so be it.

Japan was larger in land size and population anyway, he mused.

—

_Don't go around tonight_

_Well it's bound to take your life_

_There’s a bad moon on the rise_

—

Deep underground in a more casual break room, a lanky figured young man with a bird’s beak strapped over his face was sat lazily but not relaxedly on his sofa while two others dressed in similar but unique fashion stood beside him ever silently. “(Our deal agreed on then?)” he said through the beak with a great deal of monotony.

The monitor across from him crackled to life again with Japanese words in a uniquely southern drawl. “(The agreement has been signed and agreed indeed Mr. Chisaki. I believe and I truly do believe that our new partnership, the new endeavor we are undertaking against the plague of ‘ _quirks_ ’),” the speakers drew out with a certain disgust, “(is going to be truly beneficial for the both of our uniquely united causes…)”

The speakers cut themselves off as soon as the color wiped itself off the monitor as Chisaki’s men formally disconnected the secure connection.

But the machine kept talking in its lonely room, brightened only by the rows oversized monitors mounted on the walls.

And this machine, this intelligence that lived and breathed America despite having no heart and no lungs continued his drawl in english, “Though only the truest belief, the belief in a _purer_ and _victorious America,_ will remain in this world of yours, Mr. Chisaki...”

—

_I hear hurricanes a-blowing_

_I know the end is coming soon_

_I fear rivers over flowing_

_I hear the voice of rage and ruin_

—

“Told- everythin’!”

The man tightened his grip even further now, his captive’s face drained of all color save for the paleness of his skin.

“ **Then the least I deserved in light of this was a real fight**.”

A multitude of sickening wet cracks echoed in the room and the man’s tarnishedgauntlets became stained with the fresh gore of the dead man who now lied in two parts beneath him.

“(In other news, there have been increasing reports of a vigilante many have now dubbed the ‘Lone Ranger’. Part of a dying breed, this Vigilante has come to light due to their increasing presence in high-profile cases and links to the capture of numerous suspected and criminally linked individuals or even groups. This has been met with promises of a full investigation and an arrest by the Japanese N̵̛̞̦͍͖͂̆̈́͌̚a̸͔̻̩̭̒͝t̵͇͉͎̓͝i̷̧̛̦͈̬̼o̷̫̯̘̔n̸͔̖̞̠̑͋͜a̶̝̾́̀̒̋͜͠l̸̬͎̺̦̋̎́̐͛͛ Hero Association).”

The television droned in with the absence of noise coming from him or the body splayed at his feet. He stood there a little silent, only shuffling his feet to avoid the profligate’s blood from staining his boots any more. In all honesty he was more than little annoyed at the situation he found himself in, cut off from Caesar and feeling hollow rather than with the vigor typical of someone like himself. That vigor left when he was impaled though; oh he could remember that day so vividly, involuntarily.

“...(It is believed that the ‘Lone Ranger’ is of Western descent with an above average build. If you have any information on this individual, the Japanese Hero Association is asking you to step forward and submit an anonymous tip. According to eyewitness accounts, be warned of an individual dressed in military-like equipment with a distinct red visor-).”

The table next to him splintered and cracked against the wall just behind the television as his blood began boiling with hatred, with adrenaline, and with excitement. No matter how terrible the description was, he could never mistake the armor that **_profligate_** wore.

He was seething in newly found frustration and began breathing harder through the helmet and its face plate.

“ **The Lone Ranger** ,” he chortled, cutting his heavy breaths back to a slow and calm enough pace. “ **I know you’re true name, coward!** ” the man’s voice snapped as he grasped the odd shaped sword with one hand and raised it over his head with both hands. He yelled with fury as he swung the sword down, cleaving the television into crumpled pieces.

—

_Well don't go around tonight_

_Well it's bound to take your life_

_There's a bad moon on the rise, all right_

—

_Pli-_

Two rounds. It was the muffled shot of a .308 Rifle came out a lonely hole in the wall, the round whistling through the air until it struck through its mark, leaving an unclean trail. He pulled the bolt up then back, letting the spent shell bounce out and a fresh round lift up, then pushing the bolt to force it into the chamber and pulling the bolt down to lock it in.

_Pl-_

Three rounds. The next shot flew straight, though nudged a little to right yet still true through the next two thug’s heads. His fingers moved to pull and push the bolt back and forward while his arm reset to accommodate for the inevitable recoil.

_Pli-_

Four rounds. His left eye opened up as the recoil finished going through his body and the bullet finished tearing through their Corporal’s neck and into the concrete wall behind, taking torn muscle and shattered bone with it. The bolt pulled faster and pushed harshly into its slot on the rifle, shoving the next round into position as he rhythmic breathing became erratic. It only steadied when he took the shot and the round flew through a grunt’s chest, bursting back out and into the nearby canister.

_Plin-_

Five rounds. The man’s eyes lit up as a witness to the fireball that tore through the next man nearby. His arms still moved and his fingers flew to that bolt, sliding it along its path to let the next round in and his next target rest in peace. His breathing became erratic after the shot, during the reload. His thoughts were coming back in a haze when his mind should only work on his eyes and fingers rather than pain and memories.

_Plink._

Six rounds. His arm nearly chicken-winged this time, saved by a fortunate correction of his own accord. It didn’t help though, as his bare knuckles worked to pull the bolt up, back, push forward, down. The reassuring click couldn’t hit the same, nor the feeling of the recoil as he moved solely through muscle memory now. He hated this round.

_Plink._

His job was already done; but he left the torn room like it, torn on its inside with a crumbling exterior. Those fingers he used to fire that rifle so nimbly packed it away into a guitar case in separate pieces, all in their spot and in their cover. Outside there wasn’t a drizzle or even a mist, just cold night air that’d be refreshing to himself. By now the law would be coming in their cars and on their feet.

He slipped on a black cap and the burgundy coat he wore, never popping out as colorful or ominous. He was a guitar player now, that was his profession that he’d taken up in the meantime and in hiding.

He still hated six rounds.

—

_Hope you got your things together_

_Hope you are quite prepared to die_

_Looks like we're in for nasty weather_

_One eye is taken for an eye_

—

“Come out, come _ougahhgh_ -!” The footsoldier gurgled as the machete dove through his back a multitude of times with little care, a steady arm pressing his throat shut after . The one that stood beside him fell in a wet, crumpled heap with the shot of a .45 round into the head not seconds after the gore.

The next pair were struck over the head with wooden clubs encrusted along the mane with empty shells and colored beads strung along their handles.

He didn’t mutter a prayer, instead vile words of hatred he spared from his men to whom he made signals to search for a few crates that held their interest this evening; the captives of these savages.

It didn’t bother him when he gored the next foot-soldier, firing two into the next saps nearby and through their heads no less. It didn’t bother him when he threw the dead body into the next group with a grenade stuffed into the ribcage, creating a wreckage reeking of iron and ash. It didn’t bother him when he dug the machete into a gurgling foot-soldier’s neck, blinding the others with a splash of blood, firing into them while they were down. And it still didn’t bother him as he hung up their Decanus and Prime Legionaries by their cut necks and lashed wrists.

He’s walked the Earth before, bathed in sin, walked it more to be free of sin, then walks it now to cleanse what he can of it from sin, from the Legion.

—

_Well don't go around tonight_

_Well it's bound to take your life_

_There's a bad moon on the rise_

—

The man paced around, motioning for the grunts to move in and through the narrow passage they’d cleared. More than a few of them were caked in grime with their patched and worn uniforms while at least one of them were injured. The man sighed and called over the radioman, grabbing the headset, he nodded. “This is Staff Sergeant Saul Hughes reporting in. Hostiles in this section were eliminated with discretion but one of our boys is injured and rest need a shower. No trails on the legion boys camp either considering the downpour and their tendency to off themselves.” He could only hope command could respond now as they waited in tense silence, save for the rain splattering against their worn bodies and the cold ground.

“You did good Staff Sergeant. Head back to base now for some rest.” The radio crackled, a silent cheer raised in response as they began to march back with high spirits and tired bodies.

But the Captain stood in the large tent with a hard look on his face. With a shaky hand, he took a long drag of cigarette and thought up some short lived ideas of torturing the prisoner again which’d amount to about nothing but a morale boost for himself.

The walls around were mounted with posters and maps, pins changing fast across the prefecture. There were men and women on terminals and radios, orders going around and squads calling in or being marked as missing in action with a fast pace.

“Apache Squad is missing in action, last report at 2000,” “Whiskey Company is under assault in southwest Shizuouka, pinpointing their location,” “Crimson activity to the north, apparent shipment moving,” “I needed that report an hour ago Hayato!”

It was chaotic within their command, but uniting them all was a flag that was strung up along the ceiling.

In its corner was a red star, a sideshow to the two-headed bear with its gleaming brown fur standing atop its green bed of grass above the red stripe that lined the bottom. It was a flag emblazoned on their uniforms, a patch on their shoulder. But the flag itself told those who looked at them who they were.

Soldiers of the New California Republic.

—

_Don't come around tonight_

_Well it's bound to take your life_

—

No one was safe tonight. None were ever safe to start off with. True though, that the danger had only begun this night. To think the hell of a house of cards everything was, a chain linked from leg to steel ball, detonator to dynamite, and so on. Not many could feel it, the winds changing, but them and those that were attentive could feel pits growing in their stomachs, aches in the fronts of their heads and faces dripping with sweat.

All because...

_...there's a bad moon on the rise._


End file.
